The Things We Do When We're Alone
by broadwaybaby529
Summary: As the War rages around them, and the final battles grow ever closer, the members of the order must make the decision of who and what is worth dying for, and how much of their childhoods must be left behind.
1. Chapter 1

**The Things We Do When We're Alone **

**Disclaimer: **Only the story line is mine. Damn.

**Warnings: **Slash, language, slight angst, maybe smut later since it is me writing after all

**Length: ** I want to make this kind of long, we'll see.

**Pairings: **My lips are sealed

**Genre: **General, no real classification

**Rating: **M, in case, as always

**Spoilers: **This is pretty much my own version of the seventh book. So anything before that is fair game.

**A/N: **This isn't the same silly one-shot style I usual write in. I'm going for something a little different. I hope it doesn't come off as too soap operay. Also, I had another idea for the title; **Too Much Bitter and Not Enough Sweet **let me know which you like more.

**Reviews: **Please?

**Without further ado….**

The night could not be colder. The winds whip angrily outside the dorm windows and the moon, nearly full, casts a disapproving glare on anyone who dare walk out in the cold. Dean and Seamus both sit on a single bed in the seventh year boy's dormitory.

"We're not little kids anymore." Seamus says quietly. The two of them know that this may very well be the last time they ever see each other. It hurts to think about more then they can admit. "We can't just run to our parents and expect that to make it all better." He quickly grimaced and slid his tongue over his bottom lip in quick apology for the sleeping form of Neville in corner of the room, kept peaceful by the silencing charms placed earlier in the evening.

"We'll get through this." Dean attempted, but even the tone of his own voice seemed to leak disbelief and fear. The biggest battles were coming, and they were coming soon. " We don't know that Dean." Seamus whispered back. He had promised himself not to cry, but at the hands of premature loss and the sweeping consuming fear of what was to come, he found himself unable to stop his eyes from glassing over.

"For all I know Hogwarts could be attacked tonight, or worse, you could trip and fall on a broken bottle of butterbeer and hit your head on a sharp rock and bleed to death." Of all the ways to die in a war, Seamus would think of that one. But Dean couldn't even muster up a small smile. Times were too dangerous to get confident in your own survival.

"Professor Lupin should be here in just a few minutes." One of them said, for it could have been either the way they both spoke in monotone in attempts to cover up the crying sure to come. "I wish you didn't have to go." Seamus says, and aside from what he's talking of, it's clear that it's him by the rays of moonlight illuminating his face. "I wish you could stay and we could finish our school years together like normal kids, and we could play on the field and not do our homework and laugh and smile and just be happy, like, like o-old times" He choked up on his words, remembering back to their earlier years of Hogwarts when it was not so hard to be a little carefree, and run without shoes on your feet and weight on your shoulders.

"Seamus." Dean went to speak, but s sharp pain in his side cut him off. "What the devil?" Seamus asked, but Dean ignored the pain. " We belong together Mate," he said. "We will end up together." But Seamus shook his head.

"We don't know if we'll even survive this war." He responded. "Either of us." At this Dean gets up and walks over toward the trunk at the end of the bed. For the moment that he is gone, Seamus feels utterly alone inside the canopy bed with swaying empty curtains that keep no secrets in and no dangers out. Dean returns what feels like an eternity later. He is holding his sketchbook.

Seamus cocks his head to one side, wondering what Dean is doing with his sketchpad. "I want you," Dean began. "To keep it safe for me until I get back." There is an ominous _if_ hanging in the air. _If I get back. _ Seamus stares at him. This is Dean's prized possession. He never goes anywhere without it. "But you…" Seamus begins. He is at a loss for words. Dean cuts him off before the rambling begins. "I'll have no use for it on the road." He explains. "I know you'll take good care of it." Seamus cannot deny this, for the notebook is Dean and he has always taken good care of Dean."

There is a faint tapping on the window and they know that their time has come to an end. "I have to go." Dean says with an air of finality in his voice. "If the Death Eaters don't get me, the Ministry will. But I promise you, I'll come back." And he leans forward, without thinking or pausing, and places a lingering, stinging, wonder kiss onto his best friend's lips.

It feels like Seamus has been struck by lightening, but he cannot respond for Dean is already out of the canopy and boarding onto a broom with their old Professor. "Don't forget me Seamus." He whispers from out the window. " I certainly won't forget my best friend." And the two fly away, Professor Lupin looking worse for wear on the back of a broken broom, his robes dirty and his face gray. But as their silhouettes round the front of the nearly full moon, Seamus is not focusing on his old teacher. He is instead watching the retreating form of his best friend getting farther and farther away, and realizing quite quickly, that there couldn't be a worse time for him to be questioning himself.

He turns back to the bed and climbs next to the notebook. He flips to the first page with great care and sees himself staring back at him. It is in graphite, and Seamus is sitting on a rock looking at a small snitch in his hand. He wishes he were still that happy. Seamus closes the notebook. He will not waste his last ties to Dean all in a single night. He places the paper under his pillow and pulls the blankets closer to his body. There is a definite chill in the air and he huddles into himself for warmth, fetal position for comfort. He will not close the window, for he feels that with it open, he can at least pretend that Dean is coming back.

As he lay alone in his bed, knowing sleep with not come, he thinks. He thinks about the war, about his own self-awareness, about the people who needed to fight, and about how he has never before, felt quite so alone in the world.

**A/N**: There's certainly going to be more, I just have to write it. Drop a review and make the writer smile!


	2. Chapter 2

**The Things We Do When We're Alone**

**Chapter II**

**A/N: **Not going to rewrite everything in Chapter one, just check there for disclaimer and all that jazz….

**Last Time: **_As he lay alone in his bed, knowing sleep will not come, he thinks. He thinks about the war, about his own self-awareness, about the people who needed to fight, and about how he has never before, felt quite so alone in the world. _

**Now: **

Seamus is not the only person who feels alone tonight. For far away, over the rolling hills of the Scottish countryside, and the twisting green, dark in the night, plains of the Irish villages, all the way to a small house in Whales, Ginny Weasley sits on her bed, too shocked to cry.

She is home for the Holidays; all of her family is except for Ron and Percy. It's unspoken, but the way her parents walk around the house like zombies, and the way Bill and Charlie keep her up at night with their frantic whispering, it is because they are all afraid that this will be the last Weasley Christmas together.

But for now she is not thinking about that. For now she is sitting on her bed in shorts and her light beige bra. She knows that it is winter, and yet, she cannot feel the sting of the cold air, which seeps through the cracks in her floor. For now, she is only feeling the sting of her own mistakes.

Her hand rests on her stomach, gently, caringly. She is but sixteen, not an adult, not even pretending to be an adult. She does not know who to tell, her mother will not understand, her brothers will kill the poor bastard who caused this mess; Hermione is with her brother and Harry. Harry, dear god what was she going to do about him? But even the Boy-Who-Lived, is not as important as the trouble she's in right now.

Ginny wants to cry, wants to cry more then anything else in the world right now. But she cannot. The nagging guilt in the back of her mind, with a voice too much like her own mother's, is telling her that this is all her own fault, and thus, does not deserve to cry. The voice is right.

She goes to her nightstand and with slow, trembling fingers, pulls a paper from the drawer. Her quill is unsteady in her hand as she writes,

_Dear Luna,_

_I hope your vacation is going well, I'm sorry to worry you, but I'm in trouble. Is there anyway that you could visit for a day or so? I feel very alone right now and I miss you. Please let me know soon._

_Your friend,_

_Ginny Weasley_

She folds the parchment and creases it, then stamps the letter G on the envelope and searches for Pig, whom she knows Ron left behind. Although Luna is not the first choice of whom she would go to, she has been growing closer to the girl over the year and feels as though she'll be one of the one people not to judge her. If Hermione were here, she would do wonders with logical solutions, but Luna, Ginny knows, will offer her the emotional support she needs right now.

Ginny tosses a large t-shirt over herself and leaves her room. She is hungry, she hasn't eaten anything since last night's dinner, and she knows that it is most important she listen to her body. She runs into her mother on the stairs.

"Ginny dear." She says smiling, though it quite clear from her voice that she is in charge, "Put on some clothes, you're going to catch your absolute death if you wander around the house wearing nothing at all. What would your father think if her saw you dressed like that?" She waves her wand and quickly turns Ginny's outfit into a suitable jumper and pajama bottoms.

"There now," She says. "You know you must take care of yourself, we can't afford for you to be getting sick, now can we?" And she bustles off, quite pleased that she has done her matronly duty of the hour.

"Mum?" Ginny calls up the stairs to her. "I invited Luna over for the rest of vacation, is that okay?" Her mother nods.

"Of course dear" She replies, "That girl keeps you out of trouble." And as soon as her mother leaves her sight, Ginny can feel her stomach drop with guilt and consuming fear.

She slowly treads into the kitchen. Though her body has yet to feel the effects of her bad decision making, her mind is most certainly being taxed. Sitting on the stool she eats her crackers, tasteless, no salt. She is affording herself no luxury except survival and it is clear that if Luna does not come, she will quickly waste away.

She receives a letter before dawn the next morning. It has taken many hours for sleep to finally come, and when it does, there is no deep relaxation about it. It is almost as though she is sleeping with her eyes open. The sound of Luna's owl, Sol, knocking on her window, is more then enough to rouse her from her fitful, pitiful nap. She stumbles toward the bird and quickly unwraps the letter from its leg, tossing it a treat from the desk before it flies off.

Ginny unrolls the letter, her heart is pounding and she is afraid that Luna will say no.

_Dear Ginny_

_If you say you are in trouble or need my help, I am willing to drop everything to come to your side, especially in times of war. I will floo over by noon, no later. You must be prepared to tell me everything, or I will be of no help. Can you prepare yourself to tell me the whole story? I will stay as long as I must, it'll be nice to get away, the Nargles are getting quite nippy around here._

_With love and much worry,_

_Luna L. Lovegood_

For a moment, Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. She would no longer be totally alone in her worry; she had someone who would care unconditionally. But then she paused. She didn't really want Luna to know the whole story. It was not something she was particularly ashamed of, she just didn't want to remember it, and the stupid mistakes she had made that night, all over again.


End file.
